y took the shaking Mary into the next room. To give them a better
sense of security, Stonor tore the cotton out of the window and fastened
this shutter also. There was no bar on this door. He preferred to leave
it open, and to mount guard in the doorway.

Gradually Mary calmed down sufficiently to tell them what had happened.
"Little noise wake me. I not know what it is. I listen. Hear it again.
Come from door. I watch. Bam-bye I see the door open so slow, so slow. I
so scare can't cry. My tongue is froze. I see a hand pushin' the door. I
see a head stick in and listen. Then I get my tongue again. I cry out.
Door close. I hear somebody runnin' outside."

Stonor and Clare looked at each other. "Not much doubt about the kind of
animal now," said the former deprecatingly.

Clare spread out her hands. "He must be mad," she whispered.

Mary and Clare clung to each other like sisters. Stonor remained at the
door watching the clear space between the shack and the river. Nothing
stirred there. Stonor heard no more untoward sounds.

Fortunately for the nerves of the women the nights were short. While
they watched and prayed for the dawn, and told themselves it would never
come, it was suddenly there. It came, and they could not see it come.
The light stole between the trees; the leaves dressed themselves with
colour. A little breeze came from the river, and seemed to blow the last
of the murk away. By half-past three it was full day.

"I must go out and look around," said Stonor.

Clare implored him not to leave them.

"It is necessary," he said firmly.

"Your red coat is so conspicuous," she faltered.

"It is my safeguard," he said; "that is, against humans. As for animals,
I can protect myself." He showed them his service revolver.

He left them weeping. He went first to the big spruce-tree behind the
house. He immediately saw, as he had expected, that a man had leaped out
of the lower branches. There were the two deep prints of moccasined
feet; two hand-prints also where he had fallen forward. He had no doubt
come down faster than he had intended. It was child's play after that to
follow his headlong course through the bush. Soon Stonor saw that he had
slackened his pace--no doubt at the moment when Stonor turned back to
the shack. Still the track was written clear. It made a wide detour
through the bush, and came back to the door of the room where Mary had
been sleeping. The man had taken a couple of hours to make